


lay your sleeping head, my love

by Lacerta26



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Flirting, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28503303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26
Summary: Just two blokes having a chat.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	lay your sleeping head, my love

**Author's Note:**

> What might have happened after they got back from York. 
> 
> I always thought the smile Thomas and Richard give each other on the stairs was very revealing but then Thomas was still all 'I feel like I've found a friend.' Use your brain, Thomas, I'm begging you.
> 
> Cheating by stealing dialogue from the film, you know the bits.
> 
> Title from WH Auden.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Happy 2021!

They’re quiet in the car on the drive back from York. Thomas can’t get a handle on his thoughts, he still feels the uncomfortable, creeping panic that started as soon as the police burst into the dancehall. He can’t quite believe that he’s safe, that he’s being driven home mostly intact, in body if not in soul. His nerves are rattled but Richard makes him feel like it’s ok to be silent as he drives them back to Downton and not like he’s anticipating conversation, waiting for Thomas to give him explanations or excuses. 

When they finally arrive Thomas wishes he’d dared to do more than sit in silence. The walk to the house from the garages isn’t a long one and soon they’ll have to part ways for bed and who knows what will come of this evening in the cold light of day. He gets the sense that apologies would be unwelcome but one thing he can do is give Richard his thanks again. 

‘I’m not sure I've shown enough gratitude for what you did,’ they’re walking close together, their shoulders almost brushing and the proximity is thrilling, enough to counter Thomas’s anxiety. 

‘We have to stick together men like us.’

‘That’s the point. I don’t know any men like I am. I’ve never just _talked_ to someone like me.’

‘Well, we’re talking now,’ Richard makes it sound so easy like Thomas can simply reveal himself, more so than he has already, and not find himself flayed to the bone, exposed to a stranger who’ll be gone in the morning. 

But it does feel good, in the moment, and Thomas wants to say so, ‘and it feels good. Just to be two blokes having a chat, not trying to fit in for once.’ 

Thomas hasn’t considered how long it’s been since he last even spoke to a man like him. If he’s honest, most of the men he has known were either Upstairs or miles away in service in other houses; connections that are easily broken. He really hopes this doesn’t end the same way. 

‘Well, we all have to do what we must to get by. But yeah. It feels good to be two ordinary blokes,’ there’s a lightness to the way Richard talks, not like he doesn’t take it seriously but like he believes it can be a positive thing, that they can find an affinity with each other for the good things in their lives as well as the bad. It’s a hopeful way of looking at it and Thomas has been a bit low on hope recently. 

‘Will they ever see it our way?’

‘I don’t know. 50 years ago, who’d have thought man could fly.’ 

They lapse into silence again until they reach the edge of the outbuildings.

‘Do you have a cigarette?’ says Richard.

Thomas has walked a little way ahead, not realising that Richard has stopped and when he turns back Richard is leaning against a wall looking up at Downton looming above them like a mausoleum. 

He hasn’t seen Richard smoke once since the Royal party has been with them and sudden hope soars that Richard just wants an excuse to stay up, to keep talking, to not let this night end only with memories of what they risk each time they tell someone who they are. He can’t deny he could rather do with a smoke, too, after the evening he’s had.

Thomas doesn’t offer Richard a cigarette. He leans against the wall beside him and gets one out of his pack and lights it, taking a drag before he hands it to Richard. Earlier, when he asked Richard to help them with their plans, standing outside the servants entrance smoking a cigarette at him, it was an enticement of sorts, a challenge, one man to another; he thought he’d seen something in Richard, a willingness to break the rules, if only a little, he hadn’t dared hope it might go deeper, that they were alike in more ways than one. 

He knows he can make this look good, seductive if he tries. Now, though, he finds he has no time for seduction as he lowers his head to the flame of his match, his hands a little shaky as he draws in the smoke, letting the rush of it temper his anxiety. 

Even so, when he looks up to hand the cigarette over Richard is watching him, face intense, focused on Thomas’s mouth. He manages a smile, even though his thoughts keep returning again and again to earlier, to the terror and the certainty that his life was over, and Richard returns it with tender understanding as he accepts the cigarette. 

‘Thanks,’ Richard takes a drag and immediately coughs, tries to cover it up, his eyes watering as he turns away, the cigarette held out for Thomas to take. 

Thomas can’t help it, he has to laugh, all his feelings on edge and so highly strung it comes out of him as a quickly stifled chuckle and then, when Richard catches his eye, grinning, proper laughter. It feels slightly hysterical, like if he doesn’t keep laughing he’ll start crying but with Richard laughing with him it feels protective, they’re in this together, and whatever happens this evening will always be between them.

Richard wipes his eyes, looks at him ruefully, ‘I’m not doing very well am I?’

‘I don’t know, Mr Ellis, it depends on what you’re hoping to achieve.’ 

Richard looks at him, that same intense look, but this time it’s purposeful, and says, ‘to impress a handsome man. To keep him talking long past his bedtime.’ 

Now Thomas is the one who has to avert his eyes, his cigarette an anchor, something to do with his hands, a distraction from Richard’s handsome face, his easy company. It’s late, they’re alone, with no one to overhear them and not in so many words they’ve already declared the truth of themselves to each other. He isn’t used to this, not anymore, talking to a man with all that they truly want to say shimmering beneath the surface of every word. To speak in one direction and mean the other, to be both coy and bold, to _want_ and be fearful of it in the same breath and it’s been too long since Thomas has had the opportunity or the desire to try. Except Richard has been rather more plain with what he means to say already and once again it gives Thomas hope. 

‘You’ve already impressed me,’ is what he says, in the end, because Richard will expect something or else will think he’s mistaken, that Thomas is merely grateful and no more, ‘not sure I’m the one who needs to be impressed though.’ 

He can’t help but undercut it. They have neither of them shown themselves to be ideal companions this evening; Thomas may have gone off as soon as another offer presented itself but Richard had left him waiting for far longer than he should easily dismiss. Richard’s punctuality, or lack of it, isn’t what landed him in a cell, though, and it was Richard who got him out of it. 

Richard ignores the self deprecation, ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ 

‘What else will you do to impress me?’

It comes out a bit bolder than he means but Richard takes it lightly, says wryly, ‘not ask for another cigarette that’s for sure.’

‘About earlier…’ 

It’s an apology again, on the tip of his tongue; for going off with another man, for leading Richard a merry dance through York, for being foolish and green enough to get caught like he’s a lad again instead of a man nearing forty and old enough to know better. 

‘There’s no need to apologise…’

‘Sorry,’ says Thomas and then realises what he’s said, ‘ _sorry.’_

Now it’s his turn to be laughed at but it’s companionable and, god, does Richard look handsome when he laughs, the lines around his eyes and his face bright. He’s a man quick to laughter, someone who smiles easily but it still feels significant to be the cause of it, to laugh with him over some shared understanding. 

‘When did you last do this?’ says Richard, turning so his shoulder is against the wall and he can look at Thomas directly. 

‘What?

‘Talked to a man because you liked the look of him?’ 

He says it like the answer is of no consequence but it still makes Thomas feel provincial, unsophisticated. More than anything it makes him feel old and tired, this is a young man’s game and one he’s been out of for a long time.

Thomas huffs a laugh, ‘less recently than you I’m sure.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

Thomas has nearly finished his cigarette, he’d quite like to smoke another but it is late and there’ll be work to do tomorrow so he drops it to the ground and stamps it out, kicks himself off from the wall and turns back to Richard, almost as if he wants to offer him a hand. 

‘We should go in. It’ll be warmer inside.’ 

Richard smiles at him like he would take his hand if it were offered, ‘that it will.’

They’re quiet as they head to the servants quarters, everyone will be asleep, but Thomas is in no mood to be spotted coming back so late. Richard walks him to his bedroom door but stops outside, he looks expectant but not demanding; if Thomas says goodnight he’ll head back to his own room. Thomas isn’t sure he dare hope for anything more than conversation this evening and he’s not sure he’d be ready for it, not with the rooms occupied on all sides, but he doesn’t want the night to end yet either. He wishes he had a drink to offer Richard but it’s been a long time since he kept anything worth drinking up here. 

‘Do you -, we can keep talking if you’d like,’ Thomas tries to be brave and let the evening take them where it wants, hopes Richard will catch his meaning. 

‘What would you like?’

‘I don’t think I could sleep, not just yet,’ it’s the truth at least, his mind still racing, torn between anticipation and anxiety, all the possibilities they still have ahead of them.

Richard nods and steps past him into the room, taking off his jacket and putting down his hat, but he sits down in the chair rather than the bed and Thomas relaxes a fraction as he comes into the room proper and closes the door. He does sit on the bed, right at the edge; every action, every word seems to be laden with meaning here and he would hate to misunderstand or be misunderstood. 

‘I meant it you know, I don’t make a habit of this,’ says Richard, ‘you’re an exception, Mr Barrow, and this house is not like any I’ve stayed at before either.’ 

‘You don’t have a bloke downstairs in every grand house in the country then?’ 

Thomas says it like a tease, laughter in his voice, but he can’t deny the thought has crossed his mind. Richard is a good looking man and in his job it would be easy to charm anyone he came across and leave before things got too serious. It would be a risk for sure but it’s a finely played game of chance and hope with men like them, in positions like theirs; if everyone has something to lose, no one does. 

‘No, it takes a very specific sort of man to catch my eye.’ 

Richard smiles at him with such warmth it makes Thomas’s face heat and he has to look down at his hands, ‘I meant it too. It’s been such a long time since I've had anyone like me to talk to. Not like this.’ 

He gestures between them and Richard sits back in his chair, ‘if all you want is -’ 

‘No, no,’ says Thomas, he doesn’t want to talk himself out of whatever this is or convince Richard he’s not interested, it's just in this moment the conversation feels more significant than anything else they could be doing, for now. 

‘I used to have a few friends here and there, men like us, but people move on, don’t they, and the war…’ he trails off. 

He has no idea if Richard served, if he’s one of those men that can’t bear to talk about it. 

‘Yes, plenty never made it home,’ Richard runs a hand over the short hair at the nape of his neck and Thomas follows the gesture with his eyes trying to divine deeper meaning but Richard is smiling again, somewhat sadly, already changing the subject, ‘but you have friends here. It’s not the same perhaps but there are people who care about you.’

Thomas wants to disagree, set himself apart, not necessarily for the better, from everyone here but he knows it’s not the truth and to claim it would surely make Richard think less of him. 

‘I don’t know that I’d call any of them friends, not exactly, but yes some of them look out for me, in spite of everything, and I try to look out for them.’ 

‘You do deserve to be happy, Mr Barrow. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.’

At some point in the conversation Thomas has leant back against the pillows, relaxed in Richard’s company. It’s an awkward position to be in so he swings his legs up onto the bed, and they suddenly feel too far apart. He nods his head to the space beside him and Richard gets the message, toeing off his shoes before he sits next to him. 

‘I think I convinced myself of it for a while, that I couldn't be happy,’ he says as Richard settles, ‘but I’ve been lucky, in lots of ways too. Not that long ago I didn’t think I’d even be here at all.’ 

Thomas doesn’t elaborate but Richard’s eyes flick down to his clasped hands. He doesn’t hide his scars but he doesn’t like to draw attention to them either.

‘I’ve felt that at times too, but there’s always light in the darkness, somewhere.’

‘You’re an optimist,’ it’s not asked like a question, it’s plainly obvious, Richard sees the good and the hope everywhere, not like Thomas, always mired in the dark. 

Richard shrugs, ‘I guess so. But I work at it, it doesn’t always come easy.’

‘I wish I could say the same but even working at it seems beyond me most of the time.’ 

‘That’s why it’s good to stick together. With people who can help you to see it.’

They were flirting, a bit, before it got serious again and Thomas misses it, nudges Richard with his shoulder, ‘are you offering?’

‘Of course.’ 

‘Not sure what I have to offer in turn,’ he does it again, turns the moment sour because he can’t believe that this man who is charming and handsome and kind could see anything in him. 

‘Don’t do that, Thomas. I’m here because I want to get to know you. I’m with you in this moment because I want to be.’

It’s the first time Richard has used his Christian name since Thomas told him what it was on the way to York earlier. It feels good, Thomas wants to hear him use it again, wants to hear Richard saying nice things about him and to him and not feel like he has to deny the truth of them. 

‘We have a telephone here,’ it’s a mundane sort of response to Richard’s kindness, Thomas’s thoughts several steps ahead of his mouth but Richard catches his drift. 

‘And even the post makes it all the way to Yorkshire, I hear,’ he teases.

‘Yes, all that way,’ how does Richard make it so easy for Thomas to laugh at himself, to join in the joke, ‘so we could write, or speak on the telephone. If you’d like.’

‘I would like that very much.’

The sincerity of the moment is somewhat shattered when Richard stifles a yawn and looks around the room, ‘I should go to bed.’

They’ve sunk into the mattress, one of Richard’s feet is on the floor but his other leg is slung over Thomas’s, their ankles entwined. The bed is tiny, not enough space for two fully grown men, but Richard is warm and close and Thomas doesn’t want to send him away. 

‘You can stay. I’d like it if you stayed,’ he’s trying to be brave again and he’s rewarded by Richard taking his hand, the most deliberate touch since he pressed his finger to Thomas’s lips outside the police station.

‘I’d like to stay, too.’

They get ready to sleep with their backs turned to each other, moving about the room like it’s a dance but once they’re beneath the sheet and the blanket Richard opens his arms and draws Thomas in. Falling asleep is easier for Thomas than it’s been in some years, his back to Richard's chest, and he’s sure he can feel Richard’s lips gentle on his shoulders, just for a moment before he’s lost to sleep. 

When Thomas wakes in the morning, sudden and early, Richard is already dressed, sitting in the chair again and flicking through one of the books from Thomas’s bedside table. 

‘What time is it?’ says Thomas, propped up on his elbow and blinking the sleep from his eyes. 

‘Early,’ Richard looks rueful, ‘ _very_ early. I don’t think anyone’s up yet.’

Thomas nods but doesn’t speak, just looks at Richard in the strange blue light of the almost dawn. He should be exhausted, they got back late and can’t have been asleep for more than a few hours but he feels refreshed, made new and unburdened somehow.

Now that Thomas is awake Richard stands and puts the book back on the chair, he’d clearly been waiting, not wanting Thomas to wake up alone, poised as if he wants to say something but seems to think better of it as he heads to the door. 

‘I’ll see you at breakfast,’ is what Richard says in the end, quietly in the hush of the early morning, and Thomas waits for more but Richard is already through the door and closing it gently behind him. He really will have to be up soon but Thomas manages to fall asleep again with the scent of Richard still on his sheets and the memory of Richard's body beside him. 

He gets ready for the day with a kind of nervous anticipation. Richard will be leaving soon and Thomas feels he’s left too much unsaid but the look Richard gives him when they meet on the stairs feels post-coital even though it isn’t. It seems to Thomas as if he’s holding on to a secret, one that he can’t keep off his face, as he lets Richard go past him into the Servants Hall. He is fearful of second guessing what transpired between them the previous evening and he doesn’t want to overplay his hand or read too much into the smile Richard gives him over the breakfast table but it feels significant. 

Thomas wishes he had been clearer last night, after the intimacies they shared, about what he wants, what he could be offering if only Richard asked for it but perhaps it’s too late now. They spent the night together but with all the talk of friends, lost and forgotten, maybe Richard thinks all Thomas wants from him is friendship. 

‘So, you’re off to London?’

‘They’ll drop me at the station.’

‘Well, I hope we can keep in touch. I feel I’ve finally found a friend.’

For all his bravery last night Thomas finds in the golden light of morning that he can’t quite bring himself to take the risk. If last night is all he’s getting he couldn’t bear for it to be shadowed by rejection now but Richard is smiling at him and stepping closer, brave enough for both of them it would seem. 

‘Is that what you’ve found, Mr Barrow? A friend?’

The kiss when it happens feels endless, Richard’s mouth warm and soft against his and their bodies close; in those few seconds the whole world is only the feel of Richard’s stubble and the smell of the brilliantine in his hair until suddenly they are forced apart, stepping back from each other, and Thomas is nearly caught, again. His heart is hammering in his chest but Richard draws him back, captures his focus once more. 

‘I want you to have this. It’s not much, but I’ve had it for years,’ Richard hands over the chain with more reverence than Thomas can ever remember being given a gift before, ‘it’ll remind you of me. That’s the point isn’t it, so you can think of me ‘til we meet again.’

‘Thank you,’ Thomas feels overwhelmed and those two words don’t do justice to it; he has so much to be grateful to Richard for, so much more he wants to say and no time at all to say it in with Richard already turning to the door but with more hope than he's felt in a long time Thomas has to let him go, for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr!](https://lacerta26.tumblr.com)


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